Alice Ann Munro (née Laidlaw; born July 10, 1931) is a Canadian author and recipient of the 2013 Nobel Prize in Literature, the 2009 Man Booker International Prize for her lifetime body of work, and three-time winner of Canada's Governor General's Award for fiction. The locus of Munro's fiction is her native southwestern Ontario. Her "accessible, moving stories" explore human complexities in a seemingly effortless style. Munro's writing has established her as "one of our greatest contemporary writers of fiction," or, as Cynthia Ozick put it, "our Chekhov." (Click here for full Wikipedia article)
Always remember that when a man goes out of the room, he leaves everything in it behind... When a woman goes out she carries everything that happened in the room along with her.
Every year, when you're a child, you become a different person.
Few people, very few, have a treasure, and if you do you must hang onto it. You must not let yourself be waylaid, and have it taken from you.
I can't play bridge. I don't play tennis. All those things that people learn, and I admire, there hasn't seemed time for. But what there is time for is looking out the window.
In your life there are a few places, or maybe only the one place, where something happened, and then there are all the other places.
Life would be grand if it weren't for the people.
Love removes the world for you, and just as surely when it's going well as when it's going badly.
Memory is the way we keep telling ourselves our stories- and telling other people a somewhat different version of our stories.
Moments of kindness and reconciliation are worth having, even if the parting has to come sooner or later.
One drop of hatred in your soul will spread and discolor everything like a drop of black ink in white milk. I was struck by that and meant to try it, but knew I shouldn't waste the milk.
One stroke of lightning does not have to lead anywhere, but to the next stroke of lightning.
People who believe in miracles do not make much fuss when they actually encounter one.
Speculation can be more gentle, can take its time, when it is not driven by desire.
That's something I think is growing on me as I get older: happy endings.
The complexity of things- the things within things- just seems to be endless. I mean nothing is easy, nothing is simple.
The constant happiness is curiosity.
There is a limit to the amount of misery and disarray you will put up with, for love, just as there is a limit to the amount of mess you can stand around a house. You can't know the limit beforehand, but you will know when you've reached it.
This world is a wilderness in which we may get our station changed, but the move will be out of one wilderness station unto another.
Why is it a surprise to find that people other than ourselves are able to tell lies?
You cannot let your parents anywhere near your real humiliations.